


The last space between us

by Ana_Khouri



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: But Whouffaldi ftw, Clara/Danny for prologue context only, F/M, Not that I don't believe in the validity of her feelings towards him, Season/Series 08 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ana_Khouri/pseuds/Ana_Khouri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-Last Christmas (with some season 8 in the Prologue for context): Clara wants to know why The Doctor doesn't like to be touched - but nothing is that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wife/beta/fellow obsessed fangirl, starbuck1980, for following me down this (and most) ever winding rabbit holes.

Clara found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom unable to sleep. She looked over at Danny, asleep beside her, one arm lying next to him and the other resting above the covers. His face frowned and contorted before before easing again. It happened sometimes, fragments of his soldier life haunting his dreams. She watched him for a while, wishing it could be simpler, wishing it was as easy as her and Danny getting married and raising children. 

She got out of bed carefully so as not to disturb his now peaceful sleep, slipped on her slippers, grabbed her robe and went out to her balcony. She leaned on the railing, watching the lights of the city before her as she remembered how much she loved this view. It was not like watching the birth of stars or seeing the sun set on a world galaxies away, this view was laced with the comfort of the mundane. It was home. 

She thought back to the conversation she had with Danny earlier. He had asked if she loved The Doctor and she admitted that she did but not in the same way. He wanted to know how it was different and she still fought to find an adequate reply that did not sound insulting. She loved Danny and could not imagine her life without him. Except when she could. Except when The Doctor popped by and showed her the universe. But it was not just the distant planets or the history she craved, it was the experience - the not knowing - the fact that everything could change in a moment and it would be up to them to solve the problem or save lives. It was dangerous and scary but also fulfilling in a way her younger self - so full of plans to travel - would have never imagined. 

And the truth was she loved them both. Danny was safe, sweet, caring and patient - he was more than she deserved. The Doctor was uncertainty and confusion but she had an unshakable trust in him that made it impossible for her to contemplate living without him. 

Maybe it was not fair to Danny but she needed him too. He anchored her and reminded her of the importance of small things - like appreciating the beauty of the lights outside her window. 

Clara sighed and dropped herself into the plastic chair, trying to forget about how complicated her life had become and focus on the slowly increasing light turning the buildings into backlit shadows. 

* * * 

There were days after Danny's death when the only thing that sustained her was the knowledge that Danny felt he had redeemed himself by sending back the child. She wanted to hate the boy, to insist he return Danny to her, but he was the last link she had to Danny and so she took care of him the best she could while they tried to find his parents. That particular task had not been easy but it gave her something to do, something to focus on until they were eventually successful. His parents were stunned of course and she came up with some story, an echo of the truth, and wished them all well. Their son would tell him what he wanted to in good time. 

Without that distraction her grief burst to the fore and she spent that first night alone crying into her pillow as the ache in her heart dug itself harder into her chest, her vocal cords aching with the effort of the attempted exorcism.

She called The Doctor the next day, needing the distraction, anything to not be in her life at this moment - but he did not answer. She waited, each day stretching out like an age, grey and dull, as she tried to get on with her life while wishing she could be anywhere else. As she waited for him to call back she realised that life became minutely easier to manage. The pain was still there - the hollow ache in her chest - but it was not as raw and blinding. It had slowly become a part of her when she had not noticed, a companion of sorts, a reminder that she kept closer than the bracelet on her wrist. 

The Doctor finally made contact weeks later and they met in a cafe. She tried to tell him what had happened, to thank him for trying, but he saw the bracelet and assumed Danny was back - finishing her sentences like he had a clue. 

She wanted to scream at him, make him listen, but he told her he found Gallifrey and she could not bear to keep him from his homeland.

She watched the Tardis dematerialise for the final time, trying not to break down in front of the sea of shoppers, before listlessly making her way back to her flat. It felt like grief again, that sudden absence in her life, and the next time she cried it was for both of them. 

* * * 

The Doctor was back. She knew it was him even as she knew it was a dream and yet she could not quite get herself to leave the dream, even after The Doctor had gone, for fear he had only been a figment. 

When she woke up from the sleigh she was old with memories of a life lived and it was nice, being here with him again as if no time had passed. 

"Is there a Mister Clara?" He asked taking a picture frame down from the mantle and inspecting it. 

She shook her head, "No but there were plenty of proposals."

"They all turned you down?" He replied straight faced. It would have been funny except that she was not sure he was ever trying to be funny. She smiled nonetheless - he had not changed a bit. 

"I turned them down," she corrected before telling him about her traveling, about learning to fly, memories that seemed so full. 

"No one ever matched up to Danny?" He asked, handing her a Christmas cracker.

"There was one other man," she replied, her age and life allowing her this indirect admission. He met her eyes as she continued, "but it would never have worked out."

"Why not?" He asked, meeting her eyes carelessly as if he did not know.

"He was impossible," she replied, holding his eyes for a moment before he averted them, a sadness in them she had not often seen, as he helped her pull the cracker. 

"I'm sorry. I was stupid," he admitted, the half cracker still in his hand, "I should have come back earlier. I wish that I had," he finished, looking at her again as Clara felt her heart pull in a way that felt all too familiar. 

But that too had been a nested dream and she awoke again, young, The Doctor begging her to come with him. 

She did not care if she was still dreaming, she would happily die in this dream, The Doctor holding her hand, whisking her away to wonders unknown. But it was not a dream, the headache was gone and the universe awaited.


	2. The Question

**Three Months Later**

"Why don't you like to be touched?" Clara asked as they were tip-toeing through a marsh containing poisonous motion sensitive slime. 

"Germs," The Doctor replied flippantly before pointing at the horizon and telling her to concentrate.

The question came to her again a few worlds later as they stood side by side before the deep blue sunset over an ocean of deep green sentient algae. It was like an itch, a piece of a puzzle that would allow her to understand something that remained just beyond her periphery. She asked him again. 

"...Your previous face," she continued, "he hugged profusely, hell he had no qualms with my Victorian echo snogging him the day they met," she added, her eyes tracking his. 

The Doctor turned curiously, "You remember your echoes?" He sidetracked. 

Clara nodded. "Sometimes. But you're avoiding the question," she pointed out. 

The Doctor nodded, turning back to the sunset in the distance. "We're different personalities on the same template, I have the memories from all my faces but they feel different to me, I react to situations slightly differently based on who I am now."

Clara already understood that on some level but it did not fit the hole in her knowledge, did not scratch the itch. 

"So what is different about this face?" She asked softer, needing to understand this man who meant so much to her. 

He covered his face with his hand momentarily before dropping it and glancing at her before responding. 

"You see that out there?," he gestured to the ocean before them teeming with interconnected life, "Every bit of algae, every individual piece connected to the whole until there is nothing but the whole. Separate a piece of algae from the whole and what would it think?" He expounded, his voice becoming distant as he watched the subtle waves ripple across the patch.

Clara paused for a moment, furrowing her brows before responding. 

"You don't want to be connected in case you become disconnected - in case you lose someone," she summarised turning to The Doctor beside her. 

He looked at her for the briefest of moments, eyes hard with a despair she had never seen, and she knew she was right. 

"I do lose people," he replied, his voice deep and raspy as he kept his eyes on the sunset fading from blue to black, "People around me die or leave. Everyone...." He trailed off, pausing for a moment before turning to her sombrely, "I lose everyone," he stated emphatically but evenly before turning back to the horizon. It was a truth and not an assertion and she could hear his voice almost break. "...eventually," he added softly, folding his hands and putting them on the wall in front of him, leaning against it as he turned to Clara again. 

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" he asked, his voice void, the numbness in his tone a wordless reproach. 

Clara shook her head, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. 

The Doctor stood up straight and turned from the view, taking a few steps towards the Tardis before Clara spoke again. 

"Does it help?" She asked swallowing hard, the need to understand overriding her compassion for The Doctor's pain, "does staying away from people help?" She reiterated, thinking for a moment of her own internal ache. 

The Doctor paused just outside the Tardis without turning around, his head falling towards his chest for a moment before he lifted it and turned toward her. 

"No," he mouthed softly, meeting Clara's eyes. 

"Then why?" She prodded, taking a few steps towards him, feeling like she was on the verge of making the connection she was so badly trying to find. 

He took half a step back, eyebrows raised, his face holding a helplessly pained expression, "I have to try." 

"Even with me?" Clara asked evenly, desperately. She knew she should not expect herself to be different but she felt somehow that she was, the pieces slowly falling together in her mind. 

"Especially you," he assented, eyes wide with a sadness that eked into Clara's heart, a spike of painful cold that froze within her as she realised this is what she had wanted - an admission. 

Clara's tears pushed their way back as she saw the pain seared across his face. She had not meant for this. She had wanted to understand him, to heal him, but she had only forced his pain to the surface. Her face contorted as she fought with her own desire to run and comfort him, wrapping him in her arms, and the knowledge that he wanted her to stay away, that her touch hurt him. 

He tried to stand up straighter but Clara saw his hand on the Tardis, grasping it as if it could offer him emotional support. 

He cleared his throat, "I avoid physical contact because I feel..." His eyes went wide as if enunciating the last word, "and I do not want to find out if it can hurt more," he finished simply, deflating before her eyes as he turned and entered the Tardis.

She brushed the tears out of her eyes and followed him, taking half jogging strides to cover the short distance. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it and watching his defeated form lean against the middle console, distractedly watching the display before him. 

She could have left it at that, they could have gone back to ignoring this thing that was thick and tense between them but Clara could not back down, not now.

"You're forgetting one thing," Clara reminded him, trying to keep her voice steady and upbeat despite the beating of her heart.

"What's that?" He responded half-heartedly, looking up from the console and turning toward her, his expression even, almost adversarial. 

She took slow steps towards him until she was standing before him. 

”You are already connected... because you care," she pointed out, carefully reaching out and putting her hand over one of his two hearts, watching his face melt into a melange of sadness and desperate comfort. "Keeping yourself distant from those who....," she swallowed as the word love caught in her throat, "...who care about you is no different than separating yourself from the algae swarm of your own doing," she concluded, bringing her hand down from his chest and turning from him to hide the visible response of her almost admission. 

"Clara," He enunciated, her name filling the Tardis like a plea wrapped in a caress. 

She turned back to face him, falling into the steady gaze of the eyes she knew even better than this face and feeling the impact of his barely restrained emotions as if they were her own.

"You know how I know this is you denying yourself?" Clara asserted before he could say anything, keeping their eyes locked and raising her eyebrows in challenge - anything to ground herself from the way his look was still searching her, permeating her in a way that was decidedly unsettling but far from unpleasant. 

"How?" The Doctor replied evenly, it sounded like boredom except for the crack in his voice. 

"Because you look at me like that," she managed to reply before she realised the full brunt of her words, his eyes on hers making it hard to focus, to breathe. "Do you ever think that regret might be worse than that pain you're so worried about?" She asked, half sincerity and half bravado as she reached up to touch his cheek, trying to comfort him, to show him, her eyes begging him to understand. 

His eyes fluttered closed for the briefest of moments at her touch and without a second thought she brought herself a step closer, well within the personal space she so rarely violated, lifted herself ever so slightly on her toes and guided his lips to hers. 

She paused as his eyes opened wide, his breath ghosting her lips as she tried to read the inscrutable mass of emotions flickering deep in his gaze. He pulled away, holding her hand gently against his cheek. 

"Clara," he uttered softly, barely above a whisper, it was almost an incantation and Clara felt the sound of her name vibrate within her. "...It isn't this face you want." 

"Do you really think I'm that shallow?" She replied instantly, watching her fingers flex against his cheek before meeting his eyes again. "Danny knew," she continued, gaze flickering from one eye to the other, "he once asked if I loved you, and while I swore in the moments before he died that those words were his, he knew. And he knew only this face," she concluded softly. 

The Doctor leaned into her hand, relishing the touch for a moment before he took her hand away from his face and held it between both of his, as if in supplication. He then unfurled his fingers from around her hand and left it, Clara holding it in mid-air for a moment as he took a step back, his empty hands splayed in front of him before he folded them together. 

"Oh Clara, my Clara. Why did you want to know?" The Doctor pleaded, his face contorted in sadness as he turned to the Tardis's internal railing and gazed aimlessly at the rooms beyond. 

Clara stood her ground, watching him turn from her. "I wanted you to stop being afraid of me," she asserted. 

The Doctor turned to face her, an eyebrow quirked up.

Clara responded by taking the few steps between them.

"I am here because I want to be," she stated, "You do not need to take care of me," she paused, "although I am definitely not saying don't save me if I need it and you can," she inserted, almost comically, before continuing,"but if anything happens I am happy to have lived," she declared. "So stop being afraid of loosing me and see that I am here. Now," she concluded, crossing her arms and watching The Doctor intently. 

He matched her stare wordlessly and the moments dragged on between them, long moments of silence and breathing as his eyes held hers in place. 

"What are you doing?" Clara asked, breaking the silence that had become uncomfortable in it's potential. 

"I'm seeing you. Here. For the last 22.7 seconds of Now," he explained factually. 

Clara's face broke into a wide smile and The Doctor's face lit up unwittingly in response, the tension broken for the moment. 

"I'm going to hug you now," she warned, holding her arms out. 

The Doctor nodded, slowly extending his own arms. She buried herself in his warmth, side first, her head tucked under his chin, listening to the dual beat of his heart as he wrapped an arm around her, the other hand resting on her head. For a moment it felt perfect, being here like this. It felt like comfort and safety but there was also a niggling want beginning to churn in her stomach. 

"I cannot not worry about you," he stated softly, his fingers lightly stroking the top of her head.

"I know," Clara replied before separating just enough to look up at his face, letting herself fall into the eyes so full of masked longing. "You cannot not worry about everyone," she pointed out with a half smile, "For once let someone else worry about you," she instructed, shifting in his arm and turning her body towards his. 

He released her at the slight movement, frozen awkwardly with his arms poised a small distance beyond her body as if she was something fragile. 

Clara met his eyes intently, reading the sadness and a longing now edged in desire. She touched his cheek once again and the sadness faded, the desire becoming more pronounced even as she saw his internal struggle. 

"Clara," he cautioned but she moved her fingers to his lips.

"If you're going to tell me again that I don't want this you can stay silent," she commanded, her voice low with a barely noticeable quiver, "if you don't want this then tell me."

The Doctor swallowed but said nothing else and Clara pushed herself on the balls of her feet, meeting his lips without hesitation. 

* * *

The Doctor felt the touch of her lips as electricity that suffused his skin, his insides melting with the force of his past denials. He cupped her cheek with his hand, his fingers intertwined in her hair as he pulled her closer, drinking in the taste of her.

She shifted into him, deepening the kiss but he pulled away, breath heavy as he saw the unshielded desire in her eyes. The force of it made his breath hitch as she searched his face, desire fading to concern. 

He took a step back, releasing his grip as her hand fell from his cheek. 

"Why?" She asked, voice vibrating with anger and breathy with arousal. 

The Doctor met her stare. 

"Clara, Clara, Clara...." He repeated her name in supplication before turning from her toward the railing, holding the cool metal tightly until he felt the pressure radiate up his arms.

"No," she demanded, "You don't get out of this by repeating my name," she began angrily, the emotion edging her eyes in tears. "You say I mean so much to you that your only refuge is in the pain of denial. Does it matter to you how much it hurts me to see you in that pain? I know you'll say you're not human, that being alone is some sort of species trait or some such nonsense," she ranted, "but I know you and I know you don't do well alone." 

He pushed himself off from the railing and turned to her, "And you think you can save me?" he pointed out, his calm voice holding a dangerous anger mirrored by pointed eyebrows, "28 year old Clara Oswald with her sad eyes and an ego the size of a Tardis - you think you can fix the pain of all the deaths I've seen?" he asked gesticulating expansively as his voice grew louder, "Of all the people I cared about who have died or been hurt because of me?" He approached her, still seething but she could now make out the pain in his eyes, "You think you can somehow fix the knowledge that it will happen to you too? That even if you survive our travels someday you won't be here anymore and I'll be alone again?" 

Clara's face drained of anger as she began to shake in the face of The Doctor's pain. She swallowed, "No," she replied, shaking her head for emphasis, "But it doesn't mean I don't want to try," she added softly. 

The Doctor turned from her and she could see his anger melt into despondency as he pulled down a handle on the Tardis. It was almost done idly but she knew what it meant. As the heaving whoosh stopped she wiped her eyes. 

"Is that it then?" She asked, her heart in her throat at the thought of losing him. 

He glanced in her direction briefly, careful not to make eye contact.

"For now," he replied evenly, staring at the console before him without seeing it. 

Clara nodded and went to the door, glancing behind her briefly before exiting. 

Once the Tardis had disappeared she fell onto her bed, angry tears forcing themselves to the surface. She was mad at him for his stubborn fear but she was furious with herself for pushing him and more than anything she was scared, so scared she would never see him again. The thought of losing him broke down her last defence and the tears burst forth, only subsiding when they had rocked her into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ‘procured’ the idea of the sentient ocean from the Terry Pratchett/Stephen Baxter ‘Long Earth’ series.


	3. The Answer

Once he was clear of Clara's bedroom The Doctor's head fell into his hands. Every ounce of him wanted to go back to her, to wrap her in his arms and never let go but he knew that was impossible. And yet he could not imagine what would hurt more than this deep ache of knowing that she was alive and upset because of him. 

He tried to get his mind off her. He went to Xertax Five to one of his favourite restaurants but ended up getting himself embroiled in a local scuffle. He then went to the great library on Thandu to catch up on the Thandian literature he had been missing in the last decade but ended up saving the library from collapse by wedging the Tardis into the broken support beams until they could repair them.

He left the long rows of books long before they finished repairing the support beam, completely unable to focus, and waited for them to finish in his Tardis, playing with his yo-yo and trying not to realise how much he still wanted, more than anything else, to see Clara again. 

When he was free to go he programmed in another destination, running, as he always did, into the dark anonymity of endless time and space. 

When he opened the door he found himself in Clara's bedroom, Clara lying on her bed, still dressed in the clothes he had seen her in last as if she had collapsed moments after he left. He felt his heart speed up at the sight of her as he walked back into the Tardis and checked the settings. That definitely had not been what he programmed. He looked up at the Tardis, "You trying to save me too now?" He asked, realising it could have been a glitch in the telepathic interface. 

He sighed resignedly, exiting the Tardis again and watching her sleeping form. As he adjusted to the dark he saw the redness around her eyes and it felt the visceral pain of it like a spike in his hearts. He walked over to her and crouched beside the bed, inches from her face, watching her eyelids twitch in REM sleep. He carefully brushed a stray hair from her face, caressing the edge of her face lightly. 

She shifted slightly and he pulled away. "Doctor," she breathed out and he leaned back, thinking he had woken her. When she made no further move he released the breath he had not realised he was holding but continued to watch her, eyes playing over the features of her face in endless patterns, trying to absorb the image of it as if it could fill the absence within him. It became uncomfortable crouching like this beside her bed but he could not leave and so he moved to a corner, folding himself into it, his arms wrapping around his knees as he continued to watch her, peaceful breath after peaceful breath. 

* * * 

Clara felt the sun trying to force it's way through her windows as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, rubbing them again in disbelief at the sight before her. A smile formed on her face as she felt the heart-filling weight of it, The Doctor, asleep in the corner of her room where he had clearly been watching over her. She swung her legs over the bed and sat there for a few minutes, watching him indecisively. 

* * * 

"You do sleep then," came a voice invading his dreams. It was Clara and his eyes snapped open as he realised she was real. 

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at him with a cheeky smile. He shook the sleep from his brain, trying to hurriedly unfold himself from the corner and stand up before remembering this body was not quite as nimble as he liked to imagine. Clara stood and took a step towards him, offering him a hand which he reluctantly accepted. 

"Next time you can have the other side of the bed," she offered, as she helped him up, her eyes widening at the suggestion as she backtracked, "I don't mean... I mean if you decide to creep into my bedroom and watch me sleep again," she added, trying to brush over her implication with a raised eyebrow at his actions. "It is more comfortable than the floor," she clarified.

He smiled ruefully, their hands separating as he rubbed his lower back.

There was silence as he watched her, only vaguely remembering the details of the conversation that, to her, would've have only been a few hours ago. 

"You do realise that under normal circumstances finding a man in my room watching me sleep would be a reason to call the police," she remarked, explicating her previous comment if only to stop this awkward silence. 

He nodded, "Sorry, I didn't mean to still be here. I missed you," he replied simply, the words slipping from his mouth carelessly. 

Clara cocked her head, "You do realise that the fact you were going to leave might actually make it more creepy," She teased, trying to subdue the smile breaking across her face as she felt his admission as a bolt of light in her gut. 

He smiled back, "I suppose you're right," he admitted, looking at the floor before raising his eyes again. 

"Breakfast?" She suggested as silence fell again. 

"Clara.." He offered at the same time, his voice low and serious as he paused for a moment to ensure she had heard him. 

She shook her head, "We don't need to talk about it," she deflected. 

"I don't want to," he replied, taking a step towards her and wrapping her in his arms. 

She cautiously returned the embrace and he felt her warmth melt the tension in his body. He kissed the top of her head as the press of her body made his heart ache with a need that felt spiritual, a want to intertwine their souls in order to make this skin-enforced distance between them disappear. 

He moved his mouth to her ear, whispering her name and enjoying the feel of it on his tongue even as he felt her heart speed up at his utterance. 

"How long were you away?" Clara asked softly without moving from the embrace. 

"Long enough to realise that missing you doesn't go away," he murmured into her hair. 

Clara closed her eyes as she let the feeling of his words wash over her before the pain of all the previous rejections ignited in her stomach. She pulled away forcefully and stared at him, eyes wide. "You don't get to just say things like that and then push me away," she reprimanded. "You may have the pain of dozens of lives lived out over centuries but I have one, this one, and although it might be fleeting to you that doesn't mean you can toy with me like my emotions don't matter." 

The Doctor sighed, holding his hands up in surrender, "You're right Clara Oswald," he admitted, dropping himself to a seated position on the bed and burying his face in his hands. He looked up at the wall before him, still holding his head in his hands, "Every thought I can control is telling me to run to save us both but I can't forget you and the Tardis won't let me run from you." 

"I don't know whether to be flattered that the Tardis thinks you need me or annoyed you were still trying to run," Clara quipped crossly, before crossing the distance between them and crouching down to his eye level, ensuring that she was far enough away to avoid accidental contact. 

She met his eyes, and where once the conflict within them had obfuscated his true intentions he had now stopped fighting, the hurt and want plainly visible on his face. Although she had long known, something about the transparency of it shot straight through her and she bit her bottom lip hard to distract herself, pushing herself back to her feet. 

"Shall we have breakfast then?" She offered again. Her tone brokered no argument although she could not imagine actually being able to consume anything with the intensity of the nerves fluttering in her stomach. 

He dropped his hands back in his lap and nodded before standing and following her out of her room and into the kitchen. 

He stood by the refrigerator in the kitchen that suddenly felt twice as small, looking around the as Clara opened and closed mostly bare cabinets. 

"I'm not sure the Tardis would even fit in here," he commented absently.

She ignored him, pulling a few boxes out of the last cupboard, "Hope you don't mind cereal," she offered, "It's been a while since I've been home to get groceries," she added wryly. 

They ate standing in silence, The Doctor engrossed in his concoction of both cereals, milk and orange juice in one bowl - which he said was the height of efficiency - and Clara looking up now and again, secretly enjoying the domestic juxtaposition of The Doctor in her kitchen. 

When he had finished The Doctor followed her lead and put his dishes beside the sink (although he said sonic technology was much more efficient) before returning to his perch by the fridge. She was half way through cleaning their dishes when he returned to the subject they had both been avoiding.

"I never meant to hurt you," he uttered before swallowing audibly, his fingers drumming aimlessly on the countertop. 

Clara kept her gaze fixed on the project at hand as the feelings she had temporarily corked forced their way back, very aware that she only had a spoon left to clean before she would have no excuse but to face him. 

When she did not respond he walked across the small kitchen in two strides and stood perpendicularly a couple feet from her. 

"Clara," he prompted, watching her wash the spoon for the third time. He moved closer and took the spoon from her hands and put it in the drying rack, taking her wet hands and turning her to look at him. 

Clara set her jaw and stared at him stubbornly, "What do you want then you daft old man? I can't just forget what I feel and you can't accept what you feel so we're stuck," she pulled her hands away and took a step back, "and you touching me just makes it worse."

She turned away from him and he stared at her back, pausing momentarily. 

"Clara," he whispered tentatively. 

She spun to face him, squeezing her eyes closed as if he had hurt her before opening them again, "and please stop saying my name like that," she begged, unable to keep the emotion from her voice. 

The Doctor's eyebrows knitted in confusion and pain as he opened his mouth to speak, completely unsure of how to respond. He closed his mouth again and Clara turned from him, leaving him in the kitchen and making her way back to her bedroom. 

She grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her and hoping it would give him the out he needed. 

As the hot water ran over her she calmed her breath, trying to focus on the heat melting away the pain and the upset. It helped, giving her the space to relax as everything ran through her head at a slower pace. His yo-yoing still hurt but she could see more objectively now, see that he was not the only one being unreasonable. 

She spent so much time assuming he had left that the sight of him sitting patiently on her bed as she walked in made her freeze in place, her heart instantly jumping to her throat. She composed herself as quickly as she could, dropping her dirty clothes into the hamper beside her dressing table nonchalantly as he looked up at her, his features muted. 

"You're still here," Clara remarked casually as she busied herself at her dressing table before turning to face him, leaning up against it with her arms crossed. 

"Clara...," he replied before catching himself saying her name, "Sorry," he apologised before continuing, "...I'm not going anywhere," he finished. 

"You're telling me you've stopped running," Clara clarified skeptically, her eyebrow raising in disbelief, "And all I needed to do was shower," she added, "You could have told me I needed to wash," she continued with brazen sarcasm as she felt a lump in her throat. 

"I mean it," The Doctor affirmed as he stood from the bed and took a step towards her, "I can't keep hurting you and I can't leave you."

She saw it in his face as their eyes locked, the determination and need fighting his fear. 

"And what about your pain?" She asked, swallowing as he took another small step in her direction.

"I hurt without you too," he answered evenly and the matter-of-fact tenor of his admission caused her heart to race. 

He took another step towards her, the want in his eyes making it hard to breathe as she uncrossed her arms and moved her hands to the table behind her. "How can I be sure you won't just run away again when you can't handle being close to me?" she asked, disbelief fighting her steady arousal.

"Clara," he replied unapologetically, tasting the name on his tongue. 

Clara stood up straight, only then realising just how close he was, and held two fingers centimetres from his lips, "No," she chastised locking their eyes, "Not until I believe you."

Clara felt his fingers wrap around hers as he slowly moved them away from his face and left them at her side, stepping forward into her space as Clara stood transfixed by the darkness of the need flaring in his eyes. 

His hand moved to her hip, perching lightly as he leaned towards her until his lips were beside her other ear, "Clara my Clara," he uttered, caressing her name with his voice as if it had become an affirmation, a promise. 

She could feel the electricity in that sound suffuse her body, focusing on the hand at her hip and the breath on her neck as she struggled to let this play out, concerned that any encouragement would distract him from his current path. 

The Doctor buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply, the scent of her calming him while making the want more acute. He felt the skin of her neck against his lips and pulled aside her still damp hair with his free hand, tangling his fingers at the back of her head and kissing the skin of her neck as incomplete noises formed in Clara's throat. He revelled in the taste of her skin, kissing his way to the pulse point behind her ear and then along her jaw line as Clara's hands itched to make contact.

Clara's eyes fluttered closed as every touch of his lips intensified the want in her body. She mentally begged for those lips on hers, trying to telepathically guide them closer as he methodically attended to every centimetre of skin on his arbitrary path. His lips came closer and her silent instructions became muffled noises, her head moving of its own accord when he reached her chin. 

She had turned just a fraction but that had been enough for her lower lip to fall squarely between his lips and he paused for a moment before sucking it ever so gently into his mouth. He felt Clara's breath hitch as she moved to meet his lips, her hands rushing to his face. He pulled away for a moment and Clara's eyes went wide, cursing herself for breaking the spell. He looked at her intently, making sure she was paying attention before speaking. 

"Do you believe me now?" He asked and his voice was low and guttural. 

Clara nodded, trying to focus on his eyes but distracted by the lips that were so close. "Don't you dare stop," she breathed, it sounded like a plea but she did not care because a moment later he had stepped back into her and met her lips solidly with his own. It was awkward at first and she could feel his nervousness as their mouths met, tasted, explored, the awkwardness replaced by a tenderness that made her heart ache with want. 

The Doctor's hands began to stray from their perches, finding the warmth of her skin along her side as his fingers mirrored his tongue in that search to map her body with his touch. The desire to be with her, to be her as if they were one being inhabiting one skin, returned with a vengeance and a desperate localised ache. 

Clara's hands moved from his face and neck and found buttons and then skin as she led them back half a step, trying to find the solidity of her dressing table as a way of propping up the legs that had become untrustworthy in the light of his multiple ministrations. She felt the hard edge of the dressing table and the The Doctor's hands moved to her hips and lifted her up on to it. She pulled him closer until he was standing between her legs, her skirt rucked most of the way up her thighs. 

She could feel him straining against her, his tenderness fighting something older and more visceral within him. She moved her hands to his face again, breaking their kisses to meet his eyes. 

"I won't break," she promised. 

The Doctor nodded distractedly in response as he met her lips again, a sharp inhale passing his nose as her hands fell to his waist. 

* * * 

They found each other in the meeting of their bodies, ascending fast despite wanting to remember every moment, every touch, every ache. 

Clara met his eyes, holding them and falling into the universes in his memory as he slowly unravelled before her. 

He could feel the end coming and it felt like death, as if this existence was all he had ever known, and he held on to it, straining against his own completion as he watched Clara grasp her lower lip with her teeth, her face contorting as her eyes fell closed. 

The light in front of his eyes fractured and he was filled with a whiteness pure, hot and unknowable. It flooded him, permeating every cell until it came upon the corner of pain he held closer than his own life. As he gasped for breath the light chipped away at the nearly unbreakable shell of his sadness, anger and grief until it cracked, spilling open in his release. 

When he opened his eyes he was against the inside wall of the Tardis, his jacket draped over Clara's arm, the sonic in her hand. Her eyes were wide with concern as she carefully wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with her free hand. 

"You okay?" she asked, as she tried to read the oddly unguarded but still illegible emotions streaming from his eyes. 

He nodded, looking around oddly as he pulled up his trousers and fastened them. He raised an eyebrow and a hand to indicate their new surroundings. 

"You missed that?" She replied, an eyebrow raised curiously, "Gran stopped by so I found the sonic in your jacket and materialised it around us and got us out of there," she explained, her hand dropping to his still bare chest.

He narrowed his eyes as if he could not comprehend what she was saying. 

"Not exactly how I'd want you to meet my Gran," she added offhandedly as she shrugged on his jacket. It smelled like him and she allowed herself the momentary distraction of his scent before focusing on him again. 

The Doctor watched her, still trying to piece together what had just happened, how he could feel so whole and completely torn apart at the same time. His eyes drifted past Clara to the far wall.

"Hey," she uttered, moving her hands to his cheeks, "Are you okay?" She asked again, her brown eyes swollen with worry. 

The Doctor nodded and stood up straight, separating them as he walked past her to the console. 

She followed him, grabbing his arm and turning him in place as she forced him to meet her eyes. 

He looked away for a moment before settling into them at which point Clara raised her eyebrows, willing him to tell her without asking again. 

"It's... I.. ," he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from hers and back as he tried to find the right words to explain the intensity of the emotions still undulating through his body. 

"You having post-performance anxiety?" She asked, forcing a smirk on to her face. She knew it was something else but whatever had happened she could see he was not yet able to tell her. 

His eyes shifted away again, "No.." He replied simply before looking up, "But now that you mention it...," he began, his tone less distant and more inquisitive, "...you're telling me you zipped us away in the Tardis while..." He gestured obscurely. 

"Orgasming? Come on Doctor you're over 2000 years old don't tell me you can't say orgasming," she remarked in her teasing teacher voice as she strolled up to him, draping herself on his shoulder, "But no," she answered and she saw his face fall at the implication before she leaned towards his ear, "I was no where near as patient."

She took a step back, watching the hint of a smile cross his face as he pretended to fiddle with the Tardis settings. She stepped a bit closer and turned herself so they were side to side looking at the console for a moment before turning to him, looking at him intently. He seemed distant but in a different way than before. Something within him had changed and she could not tell if it was for the better. 

"Look at me," she requested gently, moving her hand to his cheek. He obliged, his mouth even and his eyes holding something raw that shifted in her gaze. 

"Are you okay?" She asked simply. 

"I'm both more okay than I've been in a while and not okay in the least," he answered taking her hand from his cheek and kissing it gently. 

She regarded him, something had definitely changed, as if the pain he carried around had been muted. And yet he also seemed fragmented, unsure of his own consistency. 

"Where do you want to go now?" He asked as he released her hand, "I know a great breakfast place on Calimore," he expounded with an energy that seemed more youthful than usual. 

"You mean lunch - we just had breakfast," Clara pointed out.

"How many times do I have to point out that it is a Time Machine Clara?" He replied, his eyebrows raised in a childish excitement as he willed her to get bound up in his enthusiasm, "Come on, I'm hungry." 

Clara was unable to keep the smile from her face, she nodded, "Okay," she replied before looking down at her state of undress, "But can we go back for our clothes first?"


	4. The Future

They materialised back in Clara's room, Clara ascertaining that her Gran had left before they exited the Tardis and redressed themselves matter-of-factly. Clara was surprised by the lack of awkwardness until she realised she should not be - this was just an extension of the relationship they already had. Like his inability to tell how old she was, he did not care whether she was clothed or naked, just that the body was hers. 

Clara had just finished a rush tidying job when her phone rang, she looked at it oddly, "My dad is video-calling," she explained, the confusion evident in her voice, "he must've hit the wrong button," she assumed. "I'll just be a moment," she told the Doctor before answering the call. 

"Oh good you're dressed," Linda prompted without greeting.

Clara opened her mouth to speak before closing it again and Linda took the hesitation as permission to continue speaking, "Gran called of course, all the clothes everywhere, your bedroom a mess - why didn't you tell us you were seeing someone?" She asked, continuing before waiting for a reply, "Can we meet him? Is he still there with you or has he gone home?" Her face fell for a moment, aghast as if something had just occurred to her, "he wasn't a one night stand Clara, tell me I raised you better than that."

"Honestly it isn't any of your business," Clara pointed out when she was able to get a word in, "Why are you using Dad's phone?" She asked but before Linda could reply The Doctor came over and stood beside Clara. 

"Hello Clara's stepmother," he greeted, "I'm The Doctor, nice to meet you."

Linda's face froze and she looked at Clara before responding, completely ignoring the greeting.

"Why must you do this to us? First that young doctor who came to Christmas naked the year before last....," Clara looked at The Doctor, a thin smile playing on her lips as he shrugged an apology, "...then this man who is clearly older than your father."

"Many times over," The Doctor clarified in the background. He was having too much fun with this and although Clara wanted to use it as an example of appropriate communication, she was enjoying her stepmother's discomfort. 

"Seriously Clara!" She exclaimed as Clara heard the rustling of her father in the background. 

"So she's okay then?" She heard her father ask although he clearly had not been overly concerned, coming up from behind her stepmother to get into the video frame. 

"Yes Dad, I'm fine. Thank you for not freaking out like everyone else," Clara replied, calming a bit as her father took the phone, his face filling the screen. 

"You will be freaking out soon," came Linda's voice. 

Clara growled, "That is enough!" She asserted as she moved to The Doctor, "Dad, this is The Doctor, Doctor, this is my dad..." She introduced before pulling the screen back to her, "...yes, he looks older than you but he is my best friend and, quite recently, my lover and I don't care what either of you think."

Her father remained silent but she heard Linda muttering in the background, "..plenty of other fish in the sea...,"

"I'm hanging up now," Clara asserted, but before she could do so she heard the telltale whooshing from behind her. She spun to see the Tardis dematerialise before hearing the same noise on the video line. 

"Doctor, what are you doing!?" She yelled down the line before hearing the sonic and then the phone click off. 

* * * 

The Doctor emerged from the Tardis to stunned expressions, staring down Linda and Clara's father with arched eyebrows. He was not quite sure which was her father and which was her stepmother but he assumed her father was still holding the phone. He heard Clara's voice and used his sonic to shut the phone off. 

"How...?" The person he assumed was her father uttered still staring at the box. 

He turned from him to look at his wife. "You must be Linda," he offered cordially as he took a stride towards her and watched as she composed her face from the shock it had displayed a moment earlier. 

She nodded. 

"Then I need you to understand something," he began, his voice low and calm with an edge of anger that sliced through the air, ensuring attention, "I need you both to understand something," he added, glancing at Clara's father. 

"Your daughter has seen many of the wonders of the universe with me and yet is more wonderful still," He began, his gaze focused on Linda but looking over at her husband now and again to ensure he was listening, "She cares to her own detriment and fights for others no matter the consequences. She is clever and funny, although I'm not sure how much of that is on purpose,.." He sidetracked for a moment before continuing, "...and amazing. She is my best friend and I would do anything in my power to protect her," he promised. "I don't care if you don't think I'm good enough for her because I'm not," he admitted, "but I will always fight to be. And yet none of that matters because who she wants to spend her time with is Her Choice," he emphasised, his eyebrows driving the point home. "And yet for some reason what you say matters to her," he added, his anger diffusing, "so stop forcing your trivial ideas and inadequacies on to her and just love her," he pleaded. 

He let out a breath, the exhale sweeping through the room as the anger faded to awkwardness. He let the silence stretch for a moment before turning on his heel and entering the Tardis. 

* * * 

Clara was putting the phone down as the Tardis door opened. She watched him exit with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. 

"They apologised," she informed him, not sure if she should be grateful or angry, "What did you say to them?"

The Doctor watched her evenly, pausing before replying, "I said they should let you make your own choices," he replied, "And so, clearly, should I," he added, the gaze pregnant with intent and promise before he averted his eyes. 

"Does that mean I can hug you?" She asked as a mischievous grin crossed her face.

The Doctor looked at her again, and cocked his head as if considering the question, "within reason," he replied, as a smile broke across his features and his arms stretched out, opening before him. 

Clara could feel her smile ache to her eyes as she crossed the small distance and wrapped her arms around him, her ear next to his hearts as she was calmed by their steady rhythm. She felt his hand on her head, stroking her hair gently. 

"Can we have breakfast now?" He asked, and it almost sounded like boredom except that Clara could hear the change in his voice, the contentment hidden beneath his usual hectic anxiety. 

She nodded and released him, following him into the Tardis. 

* * * 

They ate a lunchtime breakfast watching three suns rise in quick succession on a populous moon, orbiting a lifeless planet in the Andromeda arm before returning to Earth's history and being welcomed as Gods. The latter was not what it was cracked up to be and they escaped, fleeing once again into the stars. 

They were discussing where else they could go when Clara yawned broadly. The Doctor turned to the console and flicked a few switches and Clara felt lighter, like her feet were standing on pillows. 

"I've adjusted the relative gravity," he explained as he flicked a few more switches and the top of the Tardis became see-through, displaying the star-field around them. He dimmed the lights as Clara looked up in awe before turning back to The Doctor who was sitting on the floor. 

"Come here," he prompted and Clara followed suit as they lay down side by side on the surprisingly comfortable floor, looking up at the stars.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. 

"Yes," he breathed and Clara turned to find him looking at her.

He turned away when she caught his eyes and looked back at the sky overhead. 

* * * 

They watched the stars in silence, the Tardis drifting slowly and showing them an ever-changing view. The Doctor heard Clara yawn again as she shifted into him. He shifted his arm obligingly and she curled into it as he is felt his own eyes grow heavy.

* * *

A few weeks later it was almost as if nothing had changed. In private they touched, kissed, made love, or not as suited them and while The Doctor realised he was still not overly fond of contact in public, not wanting to share this precious thing that could be so easily misconstrued, he never again denied the connection they had. 

And within that affirmation they were both freed.


End file.
